In the school courtyard,
St. Gonzaga weeps for the sandwiches
left at his stone toes by students
praying to pass tests, to lose weight,
to score. St. Gonzaga is not hungry today,
thanks,
he had marble for breakfast
two dozen years ago.
St. Aloysius Gonzaga sees wetly
the sandwiches corrupt
in their plastic bellies
without grace or nourishment
for these children who are hungrier
than they know. Finally, at the last
bell, he cries for the custodians
who must wash his feet
monthly with bleach and communion wine.
